He leans forward, his blue eyes seeming to look directly through the screen at us.
"Isolated. Vulnerable. Watching everything you've built crumble around you. How does it feel, old friend? To know that the empire you stole from me is falling apart? That the families are turning against you? That everyone you care about is in danger?"
Dimitri's jaw clenches so hard I hear his teeth grind. I want to tell him to stop the video, that we don't need to hear this. But I know we have to. We need to understand what we're facing.
"The frame job with the Kozlov murders was particularly elegant, don't you think?" Mikhail's smile returns, cold and satisfied. "Shell casings from your armory, witnesses who saw Morozov soldiers, a paper trail leading directly to you. The other families are already calling for your head. Some want a tribunal. Others prefer more… direct solutions."
He takes another sip of scotch, savoring it.
"But I'm not unreasonable, Dimitri. Despite everything, despite the betrayal, despite the years I spent in that cage because of your testimony, I'm willing to negotiate. We were brothers once. That has to count for something."
The word "brothers" makes something twist in my chest. I think about the history Dimitri shared with me, about the young man who found him bloodied and desperate, who taught him to survive. The mentor who became a monster.
"I'm proposing a meeting," Mikhail says. "Just the two of us. No soldiers, no weapons, no games. We'll talk like civilized men and find a solution that doesn't end with the entire city burning. I'll even sweeten the deal. I'll provide evidence clearing you of the Kozlov murders. I'll call off the families who are moving against you. I'll disappear again, and you can keep your precious empire."
He pauses, and I see calculation in those cold blue eyes.
"All you have to do is meet me. Tomorrow night. Midnight. There's an abandoned monastery outside the city, about an hour's drive north. I'll send you the coordinates. Come alone,Dimitri. If I see any of your men, if I suspect any kind of trap, the deal is off. And the war I've been building toward will consume everything you love."
The threat hangs in the air, heavy and absolute.
"You have until midnight tomorrow to decide," Mikhail continues. "But we both know you'll come. You're too proud to hide, too stubborn to run. And you care too much about that beautiful wife of yours to risk what I'll do if you refuse."
His eyes seem to find me through the screen, and I feel violated by his gaze.
"I look forward to our reunion, old friend. We have so much to discuss."
The video ends, the screen going black. For a moment, neither of us moves. The study is silent except for the ticking of the antique clock on the mantel and the distant sound of Katya's music playing upstairs.
Then Dimitri sets the phone down with careful precision and stands.
"It's a trap," I say, my voice sounding strange in the quiet. "You know it's a trap."
"Of course it's a trap." He doesn't turn to look at me. "Mikhail doesn't do anything without three backup plans and an exit strategy. He's had five years to prepare for this moment."
I move around the desk to stand in front of him, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Then you can't go. We'll find another way. We'll get proof of his manipulation, show the other families what he's done."
"There's no time." Dimitri's voice is flat, controlled. The Pakhan speaking. "The families are already mobilizing. Some of them want me dead. Others are waiting to see which way the wind blows. If I don't meet with Mikhail, if I appear weak or afraid, they'll move against me. Against us."
"So what?" I grab his shirt, feeling the solid muscle beneath. "Let them come. We'll fight. We'll survive. We always do."
Something flickers in his green eyes. Pain, maybe. Or fear. "Not this time. Mikhail has been planning this for five years. He knows every move I'll make, every strategy I'll employ. He taught me most of them."
"Then we do something unexpected." I'm grasping at straws, and we both know it. "We bring in outside help. We go to the authorities."
"The authorities?" Dimitri laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Half of them are on Bratva payrolls. The other half would love to see us destroy each other. No, Alina. This is our world, our rules. And in our world, when a man like Mikhail Volkov calls you out, you answer."
"Then you don't go." I move to stand in front of him, forcing him to look at me instead of the phone. "We find another way. We use your network, your resources. We hunt him down on our terms, not his."
Dimitri's hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. The gesture is tender, at odds with the cold calculation in his green eyes. "If I don't go, he'll escalate. You heard him. He'll target everyone I care about. Starting with you and Katya."
"So we increase security. We move to a safe house. We disappear until this blows over."
"It won't blow over." His voice is gentle but firm. "Mikhail has spent five years planning this. He has resources, connections, patience. He'll wait us out, pick us off one by one. The only way to end this is to face him."
Dimitri pulls me into his arms, and I feel him trembling. This man who's survived decades in the Bratva, who's killed without hesitation, who's built an empire on blood and fear, is shaking.
"I have to do this," he whispers into my hair. "I have to end it. For you, for Katya, for everyone who depends on me. Mikhail knows me too well. He knows my weaknesses, my strategies, how I think. The only way to beat him is to give him what he wants."
